


Imagine Me and You

by Sonicmeriver (Lakela)



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakela/pseuds/Sonicmeriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Catherine Ford's life is shaken when David Tennant, the popular actor, and his fiancee show up at her little flower shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. -

**Author's Note:**

> After a few incidents in other fandoms, I feel the need to point out that I do not "ship" real people. This story is merely inspired by the actors mentioned in it and their talents, and in my head, they are the leading actors in this AU, not actually them. Please respect the actors and please do not share fanfiction with them. Thank you.

When David Tennant walked into her shop, Catherine nearly tripped and dropped the very expensive vase she had been carrying for the new arrangement. And it wasn’t because David Tennant was ridiculously attractive, emphasis on the ridiculous, or because he was the most famous person ever to walk into her shop (there had also been that other bloke, the guitarist what’s his name of some group or other, who had come in once to ask for directions...).

No, this wasn’t at all why she nearly tripped. The reason why she had put in jeopardy the vase and possibly her own life (had her mother seen what she’d done to the vase), was because David Tennant hadn’t walked in alone. He’d walked in accompanied by a blonde and a dog, and the latter had run in front of her as she was just about to put down the vase.

“Oh, I apologize” said the blonde blushing and picking up the dog immediately.

“I told you I should have stayed outside with it,” whispered Tennant in the blonde’s ear, but loud enough for Catherine to hear.

“Nonsense,” the blonde insisted. “We need to pick the flowers together.”

“That’s quite alright,” Catherine said politely to the pair as she put the vase down as far away from the dog as possible. “How may I help you?”

“Well, we were wondering...,” the blonde began. “We’d like to keep this as quiet as possible... That’s why we chose your shop, it’s small but beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replied, non-committal, “And?”

“We’re getting married,” she announced, beaming at her.

“But we don’t want the press getting involved. We’re both actors,” he explained.

She wanted to laugh. She knew perfectly well who he was, and she’d seen her in the papers, photographed next to him. Bouncy little cute thing, a few years his junior but absolutely adorable. Hell, she’d probably marry her too, she was so cute. And apparently she was an actress as well. How quaint.

“I know who you are, Mr. Tennant. And congratulations,” she added to both of them. “No worries, we’re very discreet. As you say, this is a very small business, just me and my mum and she’s retired now, so it’s mostly just me. No one will ask any questions.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at her. But then he had looked at her, straight in the eye, and it was like... no, of course not, it was just, a cute, famous, and very engaged guy looking at her in gratitude. But why couldn’t she stop looking at him? And why did he not look away, either?

“Anyway, so we’d like to know what you have,” said the blonde. Relieved by the interruption, she turned towards the girl and smiled.

“Certainly, what’s your idea?” she asked the pair.

And this was how Catherine Ford, dedicated florist, happened to meet the most famous bloke in town. 

*

For two weeks, everything had been going great. Jenny, for that was the blonde’s name, was in fact a sweetheart and had insisted she call her by her first name. After that first day at the shop, she had been the one to make most of the decisions and she and Catherine were really getting along. Jenny had decided Catherine would be in charge not only of the flower arrangements, but of the whole theme for the wedding.

Catherine had told her repeatedly that she’d never done something like this before, she only ever did the flowers, but when Jenny had asked who’d done the interior design of their shop, Catherine had to confess that it was her doing and that had settled it.

And so, for the past couple of weeks, Jenny and Catherine had been working on all the details of the ceremony. It was a challenge for Catherine, and she’d always liked a challenge.

Two weeks into their planning, however, and only a month before the wedding, David had shown up at the flower shop instead of Jenny, saying he’d be taking over since Jenny had been offered a film role she couldn’t refuse. He told her she’d be back a week before the wedding to finish everything and fix everything David would have no doubt managed to botch-up by then.

That’s when it all started going pear shaped. If she’d gotten along with Jenny, she certainly couldn’t say the same for David. Not only was his taste completely the opposite of that of his future wife, he was impatient with Catherine, and frankly, a bit stuck up. He’d seemed really nice and sweet the first time they met, but after a week of working with him, she had definitely changed her mind. All he did was moan about how this was too big a wedding, how the press would be all over them...

“You don’t sound like a man who wants to get married,” she said one day, after hearing one complaint too many.

“I’m sorry?” he asked astounded at her impertinence.

“I’m just saying... if it’s all so much of a bother, why get married at all?”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” he looked at her wide-eyed.

“No, it isn’t, you’re right,” she agreed, going back to the scrapbook of colours she was showing him for the tables.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get married,” he continued. “But I would have been happy with a small ceremony with only close friends and family. Just the people I love. All this is really getting out of hand.”

“It’s not my business, you were right, I apologise.”

“But she doesn’t seem to get that,” he went on, seemingly not caring whether he was being listened to or not. “She keeps wanting more and more. And now this. How the hell am I supposed to know which colours go with what?”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” she suggested, trying to catch his wondering gaze.

“I don’t give a shite what colours the tables are, or what flowers go where. I really don’t. I don’t even like flowers!”

Well, wasn’t he a dear? Catherine sighed and closed the scrapbook. “I think we’re done for today, Mr. Tennant. I’ll choose the colours myself, I know which ones Jen- Mrs. Tennant will like. If you could show yourself out, please.”

For the first time, David looked at her surprised. She could imagine his train of thought. Was this simple mortal, a _florist,_ kicking him out? Too stunned to say anything, he picked up his things and showed himself out.

Catherine sighed again and collapsed on a chair. Two weeks until Jenny came back. Time couldn’t pass quickly enough.

*

It was 1am when the doorbell of the shop rang.

Who could it be at this hour? The fact that she’d had insomnia for years and wasn’t asleep didn’t mean people could go about ringing her doorbell at these ungodly hours.

She didn’t bother getting dressed. Whoever it was, they should well know she was already in her pyjamas, or her nightgown, as the case was.

It was when she realised who it was that she regretted not putting something else on. David bloody Tennant, the same man who she’d practically kicked out of her shop not a few hours ago, was standing in front of her door, looking rather miserable and possibly drunk.

She hurried to the door to let him in. However little he liked the poor sod, she also didn’t want someone to catch a photograph of him in that state. If anything for Jenny.

“Come in,” she said, closing the door behind him.

“’ello,” he offered, sinking unto a chair he had helped himself to.

“Right." She closed the drapes of the windows so no one could see from the outside. “Tea?”

He grunted into what she interpreted as a yes. A few minutes later, she was handing him a cuppa. He took it from her, smiling warily and buried his face into the mug.

“Ok...” she ventured. “I imagine there’s a reason why you’re here?”

He looked up at her and nodded.

“Right. Care to share?”

“I’m sorry, about before,” he said. “I was a dick.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

He looked up at her, slightly amused. “You don’t have to be so quick to agree, you know?”

“Well, you were,” she said, tilting her head. “Apology accepted. That’s not why you came though, is it?”

“I know you don’t like me,” he said, ignoring her question. “You’ve made it perfectly clear.”

She raised an eyebrow and he continued. “You let me into your house at 1am and you make me a cuppa, but you still don’t like me a bit.”

“Why should I?” she asked curiously.

“No reason. But I do like you, you know.”

“Is that so? You really do go out of your way to show it, sweetheart. Could have fooled me.”

“I’m a pretty good actor,” he slurred making her snort. “I like you because you don’t take crap from anyone, especially me.”

“That’s me, dear. Life gives me enough crap as it is, I’m not about to take on anyone else’s. No matter how famous they are.”

“So that’s it.”

“What is?”

“You don’t like me because I’m famous?”

“Oh, believe you me, it has _nothing_ to do with how famous you are.”

“Fair enough,” he granted.

“So...” she continued. “You haven’t said.”

He looked at her.

“Why are you here?” she clarified. She didn’t think she wanted to know. She feared the worse and she was not sure she was ready to be anyone’s therapist at the moment, but the sooner they got this out, the sooner it would all be over.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted, eyes on the floor. “It’s not the big wedding... it’s just... not right.”

Well, there it was. Now what?

“I don’t mean to be rude...”

“Which means you’re going to be,” he cut in.

“...but what part of ‘florist’ mislead you into thinking I was a shrink?”

He looked up at her, lips slightly curled into a smile, and then back down again. Being drunk made him smile a bit more, she noted. It suited him.

“I know, I know this is ridiculous,” he said finally. “I know I shouldn’t have come. But after what you said, today, I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”

“That I was right?”

“Yes... I shouldn’t be getting married at all.”

“Mr. Tennant,” she began, perfectly aware of how cold it was addressing him by his last name, even if that was how she always addressed him.

“David,” he interrupted, looking at her pleadingly, asking her to understand.

“David, dear, I don’t think I’m the right person to talk to about his. I hardly know you or your fiancée. If anything, I’d be more inclined to talk to her, rather than you. And to be honest, I don’t really...”

“I’m not here to talk,” he said, stopping her.

She gasped at the sight of him. His eyes had gone dark and his breathing shallow. Was it the alcohol?

“I didn’t come here to talk,” he repeated, standing up slowly from his chair and walking towards Catherine, who was frozen in place in a nearby chair.

He was getting too close to her and why wasn’t she stopping him? Why wasn’t she getting away? Why couldn’t she move?

“I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to think, I just want to...” he lowered his gaze to her lips, “if you’ll let me,” he continued, licking his own lips and making Catherine’s gaze involuntarily drop to his mouth.

“Catherine,” he whispered. The first time he’d ever used her first name. He was so very close to her, she could feel his breath against her mouth, and then on her neck, sending a shiver down her spine as he got even closer... Was he going to kiss her? Then he pulled back again, to look at her, bringing his hand up to her face, not quite touching her. This was getting ridiculous. Why hadn’t she moved yet? David’s thumb brushed her bottom lip, making her lips part and her breath catch.

“I came here because you don’t like me,” he breathed and then crushed his lips to her roughly.

For a moment it was all lips and mouths, and hot and wet, and tongue and teeth. And Catherine just couldn’t think straight because his hands were pressing her against him, and finding their way under her nightgown, and when had she stood up? And this was going way too fast, because David’s hand was already between her legs, pressing his palm against her clit over her knickers.

“David, stop,” she moaned, throwing her head back as David’s mouth ravished her neck. “We can’t,” she insisted half-heartedly as his hand kept working her over the knickers. “Jenny,” she tried, hoping the name would bring some sense into the man.

“Shut up,” he said, bringing his lips to her again. “I said I don’t want to think. Please.”

This wasn’t right and she knew it, and if he was too drunk to see it, she wasn’t. He would regret this in the morning and more importantly, so would she. She had come to like Jenny, and even if she hadn’t, she just wasn’t the type of person who would sleep with someone’s fiancée. So she gathered all her strength and pushed him away, missing his heated touch as soon as it was gone.

“I’m sorry, David, but you’re drunk and we’re both going to regret this in the morning.”

“Are you rejecting me?” he asked both hurt and perplex.

She had to laugh. “What, has that never happened to you before?”

He shook his head in confusion, still panting and flushed.

“How could a fat florist reject the dashing David Tennant, eh? Well, there you have it.”

“That’s not what I fucking meant at all,” he huffed in frustration. “God, you really are difficult.” She noticed his arousal was still quite apparent under his trousers. She nearly felt sorry for him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He looked up, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“You heard,” she chided. “I’m not going to repeat it.”

His expression softened into a hint of a smile. “You’re sorry but you’re still not going to shag me?”

She shook her head and he nodded in understanding.

“I should go, then,” he said.

“You could stay.” It was out before she had even realised what she was saying.

“What?!” And apparently he was just as shocked to hear it as she was.

“I said you could stay. You’re in a bad way. You can’t go back to yours like this, the press would have a field day.”

He looked at her suspiciously, as if maybe this was all a cunning master plan to cut his dick off while he slept. Well, there was an idea.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

She nodded and gestured for him to follow her up the stairs.

What had she gotten herself into?

*

When she woke up the next morning, she was relieved to find that David was no longer sleeping on the couch where she had left him. Things had been awkward enough last night as she gave him the blankets and disappeared into her bedroom, she didn’t want to imagine what they would have been like in the morning light. She had lain awake for hours after that, running the events of the night over in her head. Why hadn’t she moved? Why had she let him kiss her? And most of all... why was there a tiny (minuscule!) part of her that regretted having stopped him?

As she gathered up the blankets, she noticed a handwritten note and a muffin on the coffee table. She read the note as she munched on the (banana-nut) muffin, it said:

_‘Dear Catherine,_

_I hope we can forget about last night. You were right on all your assessments about me, essentially, that I’m a dick.’_

Well, he’d said that, not her...

_‘ ~~I’m sorry for assuming...~~ I apologise for my general behaviour, last night and all of this week. I clearly have a lot of things to figure out, so you’ll understand if I have to stop coming to your shop for a while. _

_I know that you’ll be discreet about this with Jenny. I’d rather she not know about any of this just yet, not when it may all amount to nothing. I will continue to tell her things are moving along and I would ask you, please, to make the remaining decisions yourself. I was useless, anyway._

_Please, find attached a check for all your troubles,_

_Sincerely,  
D. T.’_

She turned the paper around, and indeed, there was a generous check clipped to it.

Oh, the nerve!

She didn’t know whether to be glad to be rid of him, or angry for his assumptions, and most of all for the bloody check... in account of what? To keep her quiet about having tried to shag her? To make up for neglecting his duties?

Pride told her to tear up the check and teach him a lesson, but her pragmatic side told her to keep it. And Catherine had always been a bit of a pragmatic.

She refused, however, to let him off the hook that easily so she quickly scribbled some lines in reply:

‘ _Dear Mr. Tennant,’_

Yes, she admitted that if after yesterday’s events he had referred to her as Ms. Ford she would have had his balls on a silver platter, but she couldn’t resist going back to their usual formalities.

‘ _Dear Mr. Tennant,_

_I respect your decision._

_I will keep you updated on my choices and will expect you to ok them promptly, in order to place the pertinent orders._

_I will keep you posted.  
C.F.’_

From that day on the routine went as follows: At the end of the day, Catherine would put her sample picks or photographs or sometimes merely a written explanation on an envelope and mail them to David through urgent delivery (and _no, email was not an option Mr. Tennand_ and _yes, the cost would of course be added to your expenses, Mr. Tennant_ ) and then wait for his ok which came indiscriminately and without fail. Then she would place the pertinent order and move on to the next decision.

Little by little, all the details of the wedding were falling into place, whether Mr. Tennant was ready for it or not.

It was certainly an improvement from the previous week with him questioning all her decisions, but it also brought painfully uncomfortable moments such as Jenny calling to know how everything was going. According to Jenny, David was simply useless describing things and would Catherine please, tell her everything about the decisions David and her had been making for the past couple of weeks.

Catherine had swallowed hard, congratulated herself on having kept the check which clearly she deserved, and proceeded to lie about how great everything was, how well David knew Jenny and how much she was going to love everything. Well, that last bit she hoped was true, for Catherine really was doing her best to satisfy Jenny’s taste.

Ten days into their routine and four Jenny phone-calls later, the man deigned himself to come back. As Catherine was about to close, her daily letter already on its way, David walked in. He looked better than he had last time she’d seen him; much better in fact. He looked unusually elegant, as if he were dressed for the Opera or some other such posh activity famous actors would engage themselves in.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she greeted him, closing the door behind him and putting up a ‘CLOSED’ sign.

“Missed me then, have you?” he retorted. A grin on his face that said he knew perfectly well that she hadn’t.

“Desperately, Mr. Tennant.”

He nodded, still smiling, wondering around the room as he touched random things with his index finger, as if trying to gauche the amount of dust in the surroundings. Catherine knew he would find none.

“I sent some menu suggestions today; you may want to run them by your fiancée before you agree to them.” He nodded. “If she’s still your fiancée...” she added, as an afterthought. That caught his attention and made him turn towards her.

“Hello,” she said when he finally looked at her.

“I know we didn’t get off to a good start, Mrs. Ford. Can I call you Catherine?” She nodded briefly. “But I’m ready to start over. Jenny is coming in less than a week, and she deserves everything. She deserves the wedding of her dreams. She deserves the flowers and the crowds. And most of all she deserves a husband who will be there for her. For whatever she needs, including to plan this wedding.” He finished, as if he’d been rehearsing. And who knew, maybe he had, you never could tell with this actor lot.

“Are you quite finished?” she asked him. He nodded. “Well, then, let’s get to work.”

“Now?” he looked at her surprised.

“Got a better idea? We’re already far behind enough as is...”

He glanced at his watch and then at his outfit, but finally nodded walking towards her. “No time like the present.”

Catherine pulled out a chair for him and dug up the scrapbooks and brochures laying them on the table in front of him.

This would be a long night. Secretly, she really hoped she _had_ ruined his Opera plans.

*

David Tennant was a changed man.

The next few days went by without incident. David would show up after lunch, Catherine would close the shop for the day and together they’d go through all the details of the wedding. And unlike the first week, not everything was awful, and unlike the second week, not everything was ‘ok’. They disagreed sometimes, agreed some others, and basically discussed things as they should have done from the start.

She still couldn’t say she _liked_ the man, but he had become much more tolerable.

“Jenny is coming back tomorrow,” he said suddenly, putting the foam and basket down. (Ah, yes. The man still felt so guilty about his previous absence, she had even tricked him into flower arranging. He was personally in charge of placing the foam inside the baskets so the flowers of the prototype bouquets would stick properly.)

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Well, it is for you. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“Eh,” she said, tilting her head. “Now that I’ve got you quietly foaming the baskets, you’re almost ok.”

“Thank you. High praise coming from you.”

“Just don’t let it go up to your head. Big enough as it is.”

“Hey! My head is perfectly average.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just the skinny frame, then, making it look oversized.”

“Oversized?” he echoed in disbelief.

“Large. Big.”

He opened his mouth to answer but settled for frowning at her, holding back a smile, and proceeded to get back to his foam.

“It _is_ a good thing,” he murmured a few moments later.

“Good,” she said just as quietly, placing flowers on a foamed basket. “You’re lucky, I hope you know that. She’s a really great girl.”

He looked at her. “I know. I know I’m lucky.”

“Good.”

She could feel him still watching her as she was arranging the flowers. It made her nervous and she wished he would stop.

“What about you?”

“ _What_ about me,” she said, not looking up from her chores.

“Well, you know all about my miseries. What about yours? Is there anyone?”

She looked at him slightly amused. “Since when are you and I friends?”

“You’ve got me foaming baskets.”

“Yes, that’s right. _Quietly_ foaming baskets. Not chatting. Not befriending me. Certainly not talking about my personal life.”

“So there’s no one,” he concluded. Which was, essentially, the painfully true bottom line of what she had said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” she replied dismissively.

“What’s the other way of putting it?” he asked, clearly pleased that he was making her so uncomfortable.

“You’re doing it all wrong. If you press the foam down like that, the water drains out and the flowers will dry before Jenny even gets to see them.”

“Sorry.” He discarded the ruined piece of foam and cut up another piece. “You were saying...”

“I was saying, being quiet suits you.”

“Aw, stop it. All those compliments, you’re making me blush.”

She rolled her eyes at him and went back to her flowers.

“So today is our last day together,” he said after a while.

“If I’m lucky.”

“What would you say to dinner? My treat. To celebrate your getting rid of me.”

Was he joking? A week ago they could hardly see each other, now they had come to a fragile peace treaty and he already wanted to take her out to dinner? Besides, they were certain to be spotted and a week before his wedding, too. He HAD to be joking.

“Why not,” she said. “And maybe pop around for drinks later?” she added, injecting as much sarcasm as she could convey.

“Oh! I know just the place,” he piped. And he looked... excited. Not sarcastic, not like he was taking the piss. He actually looked excited. She panicked.

“Please say you’re taking the piss.”

“What?” he looked genuinely confused.

“Pease say you’re not actually asking me to dinner.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because!”

“Because?”

“You’re getting married in a week!”

"So? I’m not asking you out on a date. I only want to take you to dinner, as a thank you for putting up with me these past weeks.”

“Still, it’s a ridiculous idea. What if the press sees us?”

“You let _me_ worry about this, alright? I know exactly where to go and not get spotted.”

“We’re not friends,” she said weakly. He looked at her with what seemed like a genuinely sad expression.

“Why do you resist me like that? I know I made a mess of things to begin with, but I’ve been trying to make up for it. I really have. Am I really _that_ bad?”

He looked at her like he was trying to see himself in her eyes, trying to see the monster she said she saw in him. But he wouldn’t find it there, no matter how hard he looked, because in truth, she didn’t see a monster in him at all. She saw... a man. Not even a famous man, anymore. Just a man confused and trying. He saw a man trying to take control of his life, trying to make the right decisions, trying to find out who he was.

Not a monster.

“I would like to,” she whispered. “Have dinner with you.”

And if only for the grin that spread across his face at her answer, it would be worth trying out this dinner thing together.

“No drinks, though,” she added as second thought. “I don’t drink.”

“You don’t? You never cease to surprise me, Catherine Ford.”

*

David certainly knew how to pick them. The restaurant was a small place in Islington, no one would have looked at it twice walking by, but it was absolutely stunning inside. They had an interior private patio, set out with just one table for two, with candles and flowers and the whole charade.

“You come here often?” she asked him, fully aware she was giving away how impressed she was by all this.

“You approve?”

The waiter took their coats and pulled out a chair for her.

“I do,” she said picking up a menu. He took it from her before she’d even had time to open it.

 “What...?” she began, trying to get it back.

“Let me, ok?” he said. He gestured to the waiter as if he already had the whole thing planned. Did he?

“I don’t eat meat,” she said, as soon as she realised she didn’t get to find out what he had ordered for her.

“I know.”

She blinked. How could he know?

“You mentioned it the other day, when we ordered pizza.”

That’s right, they had ordered pizza. It was the day that he’d come back and she’d make him work through dinner. He’d picked up on her not eating meat?

“Anyway, just to be safe, it’s all vegan.”

“I don’t like veggies, either.”

He laughed. “You’ll like this.”

“You’re awfully certain.”

“If you don’t like it, you get to ask of me anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Aye, anything at all. I’ll even come to your shop once a week for a month to foam baskets if you want.”

“That’s what you think I’d ask for?”

“What, then? What would you ask of me _Catherine_.”

She liked how her name rolled in his tongue, in his Scottish accent. What would she ask of him, indeed. She’d rather not think about it, this was starting to feel too much like a date and God help her, she hadn’t been in a date in bloody ages. She simply couldn’t afford this train of thought.

“Did you miss the Opera?” she asked, instead.

“What?” he asked puzzled.

“The other day, with the pizza, you were all dressed up to go somewhere... What did you miss?”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

And just liked that, he closed off to her completely.

“Ok,” she said, almost feeling the need to apologize for having asked.

Fortunately, the awkwardness didn’t last long. When the waiter had brought a bottle of wine, David had stopped him and had asked for a... _cranberry juice, please_ (she had helped) and that broke any lingering tension of their previous conversation.

The meal was indeed delicious. Even if she would have liked to make him hold to his promise, she just simply couldn’t fake how much she liked it.

When the night drew out, they got out the restaurant and David placed his jacket around her shoulders.

“Really?” she asked mockingly, though not refusing the jacket.

“Always the Gentleman, me,” he said shrugging.

They got unto a cab and David took her back to the shop, not once trying anything inappropriate. And why would he? That night, so many days ago, he’d been drunk and distraught. Not only did he not fancy her (what a bloody ridiculous idea), he was also, she could see that now, a good man; faithfully engaged to someone else. And rather charming, the little bugger. This night was never intended to seduce her.

And that was good.

Wasn’t it?

Except now she’d really started to like the man... and that was dangerous. Because she didn’t do ‘alone’ too well, and with him she had felt anything but. Thank God she wouldn’t have to see him again after today, except for maybe occasionally on the telly...

She shook the thoughts away as the driver pulled in front of her shop.

“So, are we ok now?” he asked her, grinning ear to ear as she gave him his jacket back.

“You really did go out of your way to make things ok with me.” His smile grew wider. “It’s not me, you know, who you should be making things right with...” she added in a whisper, because she knew she was ruining the moment.

His smile froze and his eyes filled with pain and she suddenly hated herself for having brought it up.

“I know,” he said simply.

She wanted to hug him, tell him things would be ok, but she honestly had no idea how things would turn out. She’d hardly just met the man and God help her, what she was starting to feel was not good. Not good at all.

“I had a lovely time, David. I really did,” she whispered, hearing her own voice crack.

He took a hesitative step towards her, his hand reaching for her arm. “So did I,” he said, equally soft.

She looked at his hand on her arm and went for the full hug. A brief, cordial hug, and then pulled away.

“Thank you,” she said, gesturing towards his waiting cab, hoping he would take this as his cue to go.

He did. He thanked _her_ for the company and got back into the waiting cab, waving her goodbye, a goofy grin plastered back in his face.

If he was faking it, she couldn’t tell.

* 

She didn’t expect things to fall back into place as soon as Jenny came back; but she hadn’t expected to find it so hard to be around her, either. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t find the comfortable casualness she had had with Jenny before she left.

She felt guilty.

She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, she had sort of let someone else’s fiancée kiss her a little, but she had stopped it. And every single detail of the wedding she had carefully planned with Jenny in mind. She shouldn’t be feeling guilty, but she couldn’t help it.

Fortunately, almost everything was ready and Jenny was so excited about the wedding, she approved of all the decisions they had made without her. The few hours they had to spend together went by quickly and Catherine hoped Jenny hadn’t noticed any difference in her. From the way she still talked about David, she probably hadn’t.

As for David, he dropped by the shop once with Jenny, the first day she arrived, and then didn’t show up again. Which was probably all for the best.

He was getting married tomorrow.

She picked up the invitation she had shoved inside a drawer all those weeks ago. Jenny had given it to her before leaving, begging her to come, telling her how wonderful it would be to have her there. At the time, she had thought, why not? A celebrity wedding, it could be fun. And think of all the people she was going to meet!

Now she was dreading it.

She put the invitation back in the drawer and picked up a random book from the shelf.

This was going to be a long night.

*

It was 3am when the doorbell rang and this time she knew exactly who it was.

She lay in bed for a while, considering the option not to answer. Her heart was hammering in her chest both from anger and anticipation.

He had come to her.

When 10 minutes later the doorbell hadn’t given up, Catherine grabbed a robe from the closet to cover her nightgown and stormed downstairs.

“You daft idiot,” she hissed, pulling him in and closing the door behind him. “You just don’t give a damn, do you? What if someone had seen you? You’re getting bloody married tomorrow!”

“I know,” he said smiling. “It’s my stag night.”

“So what the hell are you doing here? We established I’m not your shrink. I’m not your go to person for last minute freak outs. I’m your fucking florist!”

“My _fucking_ florist?” he smiled clearly pleased at his own wit.

“David!”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. She was not doing this, she was not having this conversation tonight.

“You should go. I mean it, David.”

He didn’t move. “I’m not drunk,” he said, instead. She arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m not drunk. I didn’t have a single drop. I had to fake it the whole time in front of them. Who doesn’t drink on their stag night, right? It would have looked suspicious.”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“I didn’t drink because I don’t want you to tell me that I’ll regret this when I’m sober,” he said, taking a long step towards her, forcing Catherine to retreat against the wall.

“What the...”

“Catherine.” He breathed against her skin.

She shook her head, unable to retreat any further.

“You’re a fucking walking cliché, David. You’re freaking out about the wedding and you’re using me.”

“Yes,” he said simply. His breathing was getting faster and she couldn’t help it if hers started mimicking his.

“You’re an asshole,” she said. The hotness of his breath was sending shivers down her spine.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She snorted. “None of this has _anything_ to do with me.”

“Maybe not, maybe you’re right. But it’s you I want. Not the girls from the strip club, not an old flame. You. I really can’t stop thinking about _you_ Catherine,” he said, his body brushing against hers, his hands pinned to either side of her. “And it’s driving me mad.”

She knew she should push him away or slap him. But God help her, she couldn’t. Heat was already pooling between her legs and her heart was hammering against her chest. She hated this man.

“You’re marrying someone else tomorrow,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“It’s not fair on her.”

He didn’t say anything and for a long time, neither did she. They stayed quiet, feeling each other’s heartbeats, breathing each other’s warmth.

“It’s not fair on me,” she finally said.

“I know.”

And then it was her who closed the gap between them and crushed her lips to his. She would hate herself for this later. Perhaps forever. But she couldn’t stop now.

He reacted to her immediately, opening his mouth to her and pressing his hips against her own. She could feel him hardening as he rocked against her for friction, pushing her harder against the wall.

“Why me, David? Because I don’t like you?” she asked, gasping for air as his mouth ravished her neck.

He pulled back a little, enough to lock his eyes to her, “No,” and his mouth was on hers again.

Their first time was rushed and sloppy; it was against the wall, still half-clothed; it was hands everywhere and nails and teeth and wet.

It was flowers being tipped over and a certain very expensive vase being smashed to the floor.

“I’ll pay for it,” he had said when he saw her eyes widen in panic.

“Patronizing bastard.”

But seconds later she had forgotten all about the vase.

He had made her come with only his mouth and tongue and then had buried himself inside her and made her come again, this time joining her.

Their second time was different.

He looked at her hesitantly when they pulled apart, clothes still half on, both spent. He was silently asking her whether he had to go, after what they had done; now that they couldn’t take it back.

She straightened her nightgown and started up the stairs, turning around just once to let him know it was ok to follow.

She didn’t turn again until she reached her room, passing on her way the couch where he had once spent the night. She could feel him hesitate slightly as they passed the couch, but he kept walking behind her.

Once in her bedroom, he grabbed her by the arm, urging her to turn around to him. He slowly pulled the nightgown off of her, baring her completely as he remained fully clothed.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

She bit her bottom lip, uncomfortable. She felt self-conscious and exposed. And his words didn’t help, because he didn’t mean them. Not really. He was marrying someone else tomorrow.

He placed a reverent hand over her breast, making her gasp at the sudden delicate touch.

“So, so beautiful”, he repeated.

“Shh,” she murmured closing her eyes. “Stop talking.”

He put his mouth where his hand had been, kissing her nipple, softly and then sucking at it. She moaned.

After everything they had just done, it was amazing that something so soft, so small, could elicit such a reaction from her.

He made her retreat slowly to the bed, urging her to lie down as he continued the careful exploration of her body.

“Your breasts, Catherine,” he said in awe, turning his attention to her other breast. “The way you taste,” he continued, moving further down to place kisses on her stomach, occasionally licking or even biting softly. “Your freckles,” he grinned against her skin.

“I said stop talking,” she complained.

“But you asked, you asked why. I’m telling you,” he said, as he continued to caress her with his lips and his fingers.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” she said grabbing his shirt to pull him up to her, “I don’t want to know. And you’re way overdressed for this.”

He chuckled and took off his shirt swiftly. Pants and trousers quickly following the shirt to the floor.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” she said. “Now hush, I’m trying to have sex here.”

Their second time was slow, and sweaty. Their initial thirst already half-sated, they took the time to explore each other, to enjoy each other’s reactions.

He didn’t stop whispering meaningless words in her ear.

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

“You feel amazing, Catherine.”

“I’ve dreamed about this so many times.”

“I could stay inside you forever.”

“You’re fucking beautiful, Catherine.”

And for a moment, she even dared to pretend he meant everything he was saying and she let herself go to his words and his touch.

Because tomorrow was going to be hell, she might as well deserve it.

*

“Morning sleeping beauty.”

No. No, no, no.

It didn’t take long for the identity of the male voice that was commandeering her dreams to register.

She grunted and placed a pillow over her head. If she could help it, this day was not going to happen.

“Tea or coffee?” the voice said.

“Mmmgh.”

She managed to open an eye from under the pillow to find that David had set up and impromptu breakfast on some chairs and was happily munching on a muffin, tea cup in hand.

“Ugh,” she said. What she meant was ‘Oh, no, you’re one of those annoying morning people, aren’t you?’.

“Muffin?” he offered, mouth full.

“What is it with you and muffins?” she groaned.

He looked taken aback and slightly disappointed. “What, you don’t _like_ muffins? Who doesn’t like muffins?”

Sitting up, eyes still half closed, she stretched her hand to grab one of the pastries. “I DO like muffins. Give it here.”

He looked at her satisfied, probably repressing some smug remark or other.

“What time is it, anyway?”

“Seven o’clock,” he said cheerfully.

“Ugh,” she repeated. “Tea,” she added gesturing at the kettle next to him. He poured her a cup he had already half prepared.

They ate quietly for a while, as she kept stealing glances in his direction only to find him smiling happily at his breakfast. She couldn’t make him out. What was making him so happy? The fact that he was getting married today? And if so, why the hell was he still there, with her?

“You’re awfully cheerful,” she said finally.

He stopped eating to look at her. “I woke up at four.” She arched an eyebrow. “I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he added, as if that explained everything.

“Think about what?” she asked sceptically.

“Us.”

She felt her breath catch. What the hell was he on about? “Us? You think there’s an ‘us’?”

His smile faded. “No?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“You’re getting married today.” She was only stating the obvious, she was only saying what had been in her mind since the moment she woke up, and yet saying it out loud felt as if her stomach had lodged in her throat.

He looked at her for a while, as if trying to read her. “I know,” he said finally, as he got back to his tea cup.

“Where did you get muffins at this hour?” She wasn’t particularly interested, it’s not like she was ever awake at 7am, but she was desperate to change the topic.

“Tesco,” he said, and left out and unspoken ‘where else?’.  “Catherine... If we had met in different circumstances, if I wasn’t getting married today... would there be an ‘us’ do you think?”

“No,” she answered honestly. He wouldn’t have looked at her twice.

“Oh,” he said simply.

It didn’t take long for him to stand up, after that, to clear the mugs and the plates from breakfast and leave for the kitchen, giving her some much needed time to herself. Why couldn’t he just go already and let her cry in peace before she had to get up herself and go be the best damn actress there ever was, as she pretended everything was fine and got this fucking wedding on its feet.

It was all her fault, she was well aware of the fact, but knowing this didn’t make things any easier.

He came back after a while, to pick up his things that lay scattered around her room.

“I better go get ready,” he muttered.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I will see you later.”

She nodded. She was still sitting on the bed and fully aware that he had no easy access to her for a goodbye. She made no effort to stand up so he simply nodded.

“I’ll show myself out,” he said. And left.

*                                                                                                                                                                                                     

She really should have gone into acting like she had dreamed of as a kid, with the way she’d been performing all morning. A smile on her face, she’d spoken to Jenny on the phone to assure her things were right on track, she’d instructed the catering girls on their jobs, she’d finished the centre pieces and got the place ready almost singlehandedly. Well, if shouting orders left and right counted as singlehandedly, anyway.

With two hours yet to spare before the guests started to arrive, she asked one of the boys for a fag and plopped herself on one of the outside white benches they had set up for the occasion.

She didn’t smoke, but today felt like a good day to start and maybe a drink wouldn’t go amiss as soon as the guests started to arrive.

It was then that she noticed the figure walking towards her who she immediately recognised as Jenny.

She put the light out (which she had hardly even started) and waited for Jenny to reach her. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” she asked, moving over so that Jenny could sit next to her on the bench.

“Hello,” Jenny said.

“Nervous?” she asked, smiling sympathetically. Catherine wasn’t the marrying kind, she didn’t believe in big ceremonies and fake smiles, but she had to admit being at the centre of something so big must have been nerve racking.

“Yes, rather.” Jenny nodded. “I... I came early to speak to you actually. I’ve got the dress inside and everything is ready, but I just... I needed to speak to someone. I was hoping...”

Catherine’s heart started hammering in her chest. Why did this have to happen to her? Why her? What had she done to deserve this? “Of course,” she managed in a barely audible voice.

When she looked up again she noticed Jenny’s eyes were moist. “I’m sorry,” the girl apologised. “I’m just a little emotional.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Yes. I know. I just... Catherine, you’re the only person I could talk to. You’ve spent a lot of time with David lately but you’re not mates, you can be objective about it...”

“About what?”

“Is he... He’s been so strange lately. It could be nerves. I know he didn’t want a big wedding and things have gotten a bit out of control... But it’s not just that. I see him trying. I see him making an effort but sometimes he forgets, he just seems removed. As if none of this had anything to do with him. And I know he did most of the work while I was away, I’m grateful to him for that. To both of you. But... Do you think he wants this? This... marriage? Do you think he wants me?” she said finally, bursting into tears as soon as the last word was out.

“Oh honey.” Catherine pulled Jenny into a hug. “Of course he does!! He loves you. You’re just nervous because this is a big deal, but of course he wants this.” Every word that came out of her mouth was like a stab to the heart for her. And just as well, she deserved each and every one of them. What the hell had she done? “You’ll be so happy together, Jenny. You make a disgustingly perfect couple. You really do.”

Jenny sniffed and looked up at her. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No,” she said. And she meant it.

“Ugh, thank you Catherine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to lay this on you. Everything looks gorgeous, by the way. I’ve been inside, the flower arrangements are spectacular.”

“Thank you.”  Jenny nodded, but Catherine could tell there was something still troubling her because she wouldn’t stop worrying her bottom lip. “What is it, Jen?”

“I haven’t told anyone yet... not even David.” Catherine felt her stomach drop even before the words had come out of Jenny’s mouth. “I’m pregnant.”

It took what to Catherine felt like an eternity before she could force the corners of her lips up and mutter a “Congratulations.”

The girl looked at her unsure and the only thing she could think of was pulling her in for a hug again. “That is wonderful news, Jen. It truly is.”

Jenny and David were having a baby. Wow. She really hadn’t been prepared for that one.

“I found out yesterday. I tried calling David but he was already out. I’ll tell him tonight, after the wedding.”

Catherine took Jenny’s hand in hers. “I wish you both the best.”

“Thank you. It is good news isn’t it?”

“Excellent news.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry to have done this to you.”

“Not at all. That’s what I’m here for. Go be the most beautiful bride there’s ever been,” Catherine added, signalling towards the old building where the ceremony would take place.

“I think I will,” Jenny agreed, a smile on her face.

*

The day passed much in a haze after that. Guests arrived and later the groom. The bride looked beautiful, vows were said, music played and the couple danced.

And through it all, Catherine tried to focus on the flowers, and the table cloths, on the catering or the music. On anything but on the man who kept stealing glances in her direction when he thought she wasn’t looking. On anything but the man who’d just gotten married today and was having a baby with someone else.

“Hello,” he whispered from behind her, startling her. “Everything looks beautiful.”

She turned around, straightening her dress that needed no straightening whatsoever, and mumbled a “thank you,” as she turned around again to leave.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her arm, softly. He offered a hand in her direction inviting her to dance.

She shook her head, “no, David, I can’t.”

“Jenny sends me,” he added sheepishly, gesturing towards Jenny who was in fact grinning at her from the other side of the ballroom.

“Tell her I don’t dance.”

“She’ll have my head for not trying hard enough. Or maybe my balls,” he added in a mock gesture.

She didn’t move.

“Please.”

And damn him, he looked like he meant it. And Jenny was winking at her in encouragement from the other side. These two would really be the end of her.

She took his hand and let him lead her into the ballroom. He stopped and positioned her close to him, but not quite touching, and started leading the slow dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. She looked down to the floor, counting steps and occasionally looking at Jenny who had already moved on to other guests, happy to see that Catherine had been taken care of.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” he continued.

“Does it matter?” she asked. She’d agreed to a dance, not a pep talk.

He shook his head and held her a little closer. Close enough that every time he breathed in, his chest would brush her breasts. His hand was drawing circles on her back and he smelled wonderful. He smelled just like he had last night, when she had buried her nose into his neck, taking him in. A mixture of aftershave and clothes detergent and a musky scent all of his own. She’d licked his neck last night and he had moaned when she’d sucked on it. And now there it was, so close to her and yet so far. 

“I don’t want to stop seeing you,” he said suddenly, not breaking his step.

“David,” she said warningly, tensing in his arms.

“I don’t. You said this morning there wasn’t an ‘us’, but it’s not true.”

“Not now, David.”

“You know it’s not true.”

“Shut up or I’m leaving.”

“I know I’m married now, but this doesn’t change what I feel for you.”

"Feel!" she snorted.

"Catherine..."

“You don’t _feel_ anything other than some lust and confusion over your own life.”

“No. Maybe that’s how it all started, but it’s not where I am now.”

“Stop it, David. Don’t do this to me now. The day has been hard enough as it is.”

He nodded, pulling her in again. She could feel both their hearts racing against each other. Even if he thought he meant it, she knew he’d change his mind once he found out Jenny’s news.

“Please say this isn’t over. I’ll come to you after...” He spoke into her ear, his hot breath hitting her skin. “When I come back from...”

 “From your honeymoon?” she supplied.

“I’ll come, as soon as I get back,” he repeated. “Say I can come.”

“You won’t,” she said pulling away from him, leaving him alone on the dance floor as she put on the fake smile that had gotten her through the day and scurried off to the closest restroom to cry.

It wasn’t the first time she’d locked herself in a toilet to cry and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. No, that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part came ten days later, when he was meant to come back from his honeymoon. The worst part was when, on that day and in spite of herself, she actually waited. In spite of _knowing_ he would not come, she had still hoped. And she hated herself for it.

Of course he didn’t come. Happy dad-to-be, back from his honeymoon. Why on earth would he have come?

He never came, and Catherine cursed herself for being disappointed.

*


	2. -

*

It had been roughly two months, one week and two days since David had come back from his honeymoon. But who was counting? Certainly not Catherine.

When she received Jenny’s letter in the mail thanking her for her work and a bunch of pictures from the wedding (which included one of Catherine and David dancing and a post-it note from Jenny saying “ _Wow! ;)”_ ) she promptly chucked them all into the bin.

If two days later she had removed them from the bin and put them in a drawer, who could blame her? It was hardly her fault that the pictures seemed to be staring at her from the bin.

*

When 7 months, 3 weeks and 4 days later she received another letter from ‘David and Jenny Tennant’, she knew better than to open it. She went outside, found a proper bin and buried it in it, somewhere where it wouldn’t be staring at her.

She knew exactly what would be in that letter and she didn’t particularly care to see.

*

It had been almost three years when she received the third letter, and she had finally stopped counting.  She opened it with trembling fingers, read it all the way through, folded it neatly back into the envelope and placed it on the shop’s counter.

She closed the shop, drew the blinds and went upstairs.

That night she lay in bed, her eyes wide open for hours, listening to her husband’s breathing.

Ah. Fuck.

*

_Dear Catherine,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It has been rather long since the last time we talked._

_I owe you an apology, worthless as it may be three years too late. I know you know why I never came back. I wanted, needed to do the right thing. I’m sorry._

_I don’t know if you’ll believe it, but I think of you quite often. This is, partly, what prompted this letter._

_Do you believe in fate?_

_I don’t. Never really have._

_Lately, however, I don’t know quite what to believe. You may have read in the papers (or maybe you haven’t) that the Doctor is getting a new companion. Her name is Donna Noble and her profession... she’s a florist._

_Next week we start filming her first episode. It’s a two episode arc set largely in her flower shop. This means we need someone on set, both for assessment and assortment._

_They wanted someone local, but I gave them your name instead. (I may have showed them a few pictures of your work at our wedding to prove a point; it really wasn’t hard to convince anyone.) You’ll be getting a call soon, if you haven’t yet, offering you the job._

_I don’t know if I did the right thing._

_Before you refuse on my account, know that you will hardly see me on set if you don’t want to. Not fate, after all; it’s your choice._

_But I hope you say yes, Catherine. Let me make things right. I hope we can start afresh, be friends perhaps._

_Yours,  
David._

_*_

She read the letter for the millionth time since she had received it, three days ago.

“Still with that?” Sean placed his lips on her cheek. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning dear,” she replied, putting the letter away.

“It’s today, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “They’re waiting for an answer. It’d be crazy to refuse, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“But two months in Cardiff, I know I can come home now and again, but I don’t know... two months, without you...”

“Honey, what’s worrying you like that? It’ll be just like when I’m away on tour, only this time I’ll be the one holding the fort. It’ll be fine; two months will go by in a heart-beat. I’ll call you every night if need be.”

“Shut up, I don’t need you to call _every night_ , thankyouverymuch. Six times a week will do.” She giggled and he placed a soft kiss on her lips.

“Go on.” He gave her the telephone. “You’re going to rock them.”

“Rock them?” she laughed.

“Uh huh. Blow their socks off. Shake the ground under their feet. Leave them gobsmacked.”

“I think I get the picture,” she kissed him back. “I love you, you know that?”

“I do.”

“Oh God, I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.” Was she?

David was a thing of the past, it was ages ago, it was a one night stand, and yet she knew, having him back in his life would only mean trouble.

The man who never came back.

She’d be a fool to refuse; she’d be an even bigger fool to accept.

She dialled.

*

Sophia was really quite lovely. She’d welcomed her heartily and showed her around the set. She had asked questions about the flower shop and her life and had listened to what Catherine had to say attentively. She was quick and a very good actress, but as far as Catherine was concerned, she was a little too blonde for a florist.

Not that florists had to look a certain way, mind, but Sophia was definitely too blonde.

Her first day on set went by without any notable incidents. She’d been told David was away on location for the week, which had been quite a relief. It had allowed her to meet the rest of the cast and crew without the added pressure.

It was actually rather exciting, in fact, to suddenly be a part of all this. People running around, cameras and trailers all over the place... it wasn’t glamorous as she had pictured, but in a strange way, you could breathe the magic of this place.

 

Three days passed, as she got acquainted with the job and what would be required of her. The arrangements that would be needed and what details could improve the script. It was all going really rather smoothly... and then _he_ showed up.

“David, this is Catherine Tate, Catherine, David Tennant, but I believe you’ve already met?” Nathan, the assistant director, asked.

David looked at her in surprise at the mention of her name, but didn’t comment. “A lifetime ago,” David said, taking a step towards her and placing a single kiss on her cheek. “Nice to see you again, Catherine.”

“My pleasure,” she said internally kicking herself for being so stiff.

“I’ll leave you to it, Catherine, let me know if you need anything,” Nathan said, walking away.

“Cheers” she said, not able to take her eyes off of David. “It’s been a while.”

“Quite. I’m glad you took the job.”

“Too good a chance to pass up, eh? Not even on your account.”

“Aye,” he smiled.

“Thank you. You know... for giving them my name.”

“Well... not accurately, apparently.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Tate?”

“I got married.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

 “You know...” he started, cautiously. “I really didn’t have you as the marrying kind.”

“Neither did I,” she answered honestly. And after a moment, “he’s American,” she added, as if that explained everything. And in fact it did, they’d gotten married only a year into their relationship because it made things much easier, legally speaking.

“How long?” he asked.

“A year.”

“Since you tied the knot?” She nodded. She could see him working in his head what that meant in terms of how long it had been for them. Or maybe she was just imagining things. “Congratulations again. What’s his name?”

“Sean. He’s a musician.”

“Lucky man.”

“Yeah,” she laughed dismissing the compliment.

“Any...”

“Kids?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Not yet, anyway. How about you? How’s Jenny? And the...”

“Boy.”

“A Boy! Lovely.”

“Michael.”

“How is Michael?”

“He’s brilliant.” He pulled out his wallet and produced a picture of a blonde little brat. “That’s him.”

“Wow, so big already.”

“Two and a half.”

“Aw, he looks so cheeky, just like his dad.”

“Yeah,” he smiled proudly.

“And Jenny?”

“Good. Good.”

“Good, I’m glad.” She echoed.

“So...” he said, burying his hands inside his pockets further than seemed physically possible. “How’ve they been treating you?”

“Excellent, yeah. Sophia has been lovely. Everyone, really.”

“Good. Sophia is brilliant, you’ll see.”

“You knew each other?”

“Did I hear my name?” Sophia interrupted, joining them. She draped a casual arm around David’s shoulder. “Don’t believe anything he says,” she added winking at Catherine.

“He said you were brilliant,” Catherine smiled.

“Oh, in that case, _do_ believe.”

“Weell, she has her moments,” David amended, which earned him an elbow to the side.

Clearly, the intimacy these two had wasn’t from a couple of days of filming with a new companion.

“He was saying you two knew each other from before?” she asked shyly.

“Oh God, do we!” Sophia laughed. “Though you know, you’ve changed so much, I don’t know if it counts,” she said to him, and then turned towards Catherine, “He’s a new man since he met Jenny.”

“So you two were...” Catherine asked, starting to get the picture.

“No,” said Sophia while David said “Yes,” at the same time. They looked at each other and David said “No,” shaking his head while Sophia conceded with a “Yes.”

“Well, which is it?” This was like watching a car crash in slow motion. The more she heard the harder it was to turn away.

“Yes,” David said.

“Two years,” Sophia added.

“Wow. That’s quite a long time for such an indecisive answer.”

“We weren’t exclusive,” Sophia explained. “In fact, if I recall, he shagged anything with breasts at the time.”

“I did not!” David exclaimed appalled, getting rid of Sophia’s arm around his shoulder. “And anyway, you’re one to talk. I found her with my agent, once. My _female_ agent.”

“Oh yes,” Sophia said laughing, clearly quite fond of the memory. “You and I clearly weren’t meant to be, darling.”

“No, that much we agree on.”

Not a car crash, Catherine’s mind amended helpfully, this was like watching a _plane_ crash in slow motion, the people being ejected from the plane and the plane exploding as it hit the ground. An enormous, furious explosion that lodged into her throat. She knew she had been right in her first assessment of David. Of _course_ he had exes all over the place and would shag anything with boobs. And his type was clearly the skinny Barbie faced blonde. Why did she lose sight of this? How did she ever get swept away by his smooth talk and his pretty face?

“Anyway,” David said turning back towards Catherine and interrupting her thoughts. “Are you in all week?”

“No, today is my last day for the week,” she didn’t say ‘thank God’. “I’m not back until Tuesday next week.”

“Are you staying in Cardiff?” Sophia asked. “Tomorrow is my birthday and I’m throwing a bit of a party on Saturday. I’d be delighted if you could make it.”

“I...” They had decided she would stay in Cardiff the whole two months. Not having a car of her own, going back and forth wasn’t really worth it and Sean was always away on the weekends, so they’d hardly have any time together. “I don’t know if I can. I was planning on going back home,” she lied. “For the shop,” she added.

“Oh, pity! Well if you change your mind, let me know. It’ll be fun; you would get to know everybody. I throw a hell of a party.”

“I’m sure.” Catherine smiled. “And I’ll let you know if I change my mind. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Cheers,” she beamed. “Anyway, I should really be getting back, I sort of abandoned them mid-sequence. Glad to have you back David, see you both in a bit,” she nodded her goodbye and left the two of them standing there in uncomfortable silence.

“Well,” she said, as her cue to leave.

“Wait,” he stopped her. He ran his hand through his hair nervously. “I just... what she said, it’s not entirely true.”

“Oh, it’s none of my business. It really isn’t.”

“I know, I just... I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter, I mean it. You really don’t owe me any explanations.”

He searched her eyes for a while and finally nodded. “It’s a little weird having you here.”

“Is it? David, it was a one night stand, three years ago. Apparently you’ve got a lot of baggage around here, why should I be any different...” .

“Come to the party on Saturday. You’re right; it doesn’t have to be awkward if we don’t make it so.”

“I can’t, I...”

“Well, it’s your call, but I think it would be a good idea for you to come. Meet everyone outside of work... I’ll make sure there’s cranberry juice. Loads of it.”

She laughed, secretly a little pleased that he remembered. “If that’s the case, how can I refuse? Where else would I _possibly_ get cranberry juice?”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s an ‘I’ll think about it.’”

“It’s a start.”

“But if I do come, it’ll only be for a short while, I really don’t like parties. Or people.”

“Fair enough.” He smiled, clearly pleased. “Coffee? I know you just got here, but I’ve been here since 6am and it’s time for another coffee.”

“I could have some tea,” she accepted, following him towards catering.

*

Despite her better judgement, she finally decided to go to the party. Three days off had given her enough perspective to make a rational decision, not influenced by the initial gut reaction to run away as far away as possible.

Of course there was the possibility that she had just talked herself into the biggest mistake of her life and that her gut instinct was right all along, but by the fifth cranberry juice, it was too late for second-thoughts.

She chatted to Sophia’s guests, trying to determine which were actors and which weren’t. Non-actors were definitely in the minority. Every now and again he caught David’s eye from the other side of the room, who was chatting away much the same way as she. Only for each cranberry juice that she had, he had a Vodka and Tonic. 

She was talking to a lovely chap, George, not an actor, when David swept her away to the dance floor. (Or what had become the dance floor in Sophia’s rather impressive flat)

“Will you do me the honours?”

It wasn’t a romantic tune, on the contrary, it was a fast-paced rock and roll tune that had David spinning her around and jumping about uncoordinatedly. She found she really didn’t mind, jumping and spinning around turned out to be quite fun.

“I think you’re drunk,” she laughed, as David did a pirouette that landed him on the floor.

“None-sense,” he purred. “The party’s just started! I’ve barely had a sip!”

“Yeah right,” she said, pulling him up from the floor. “I think a bit of fresh air might do the trick.”

He complained again about not being drunk at all, but let himself be lead away to Sophia’s garden. It was mostly empty, aside from a few scattered people having a smoke or chatting in private.

She sat down on a bench, fairly close to the smokers; close enough that they’d see them, not enough for them to hear.

“Sit,” she said patting the bench next to her. He hesitated a little but eventually sat down next to her, never taking his eyes off of her.

“So! Here we are, eh?”

She made a small noise of agreement, looking away toward the smoking people.

“Strange...” he kept mumbling.  “It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“I didn’t think it would happen like this.”

“What’s that?”

“You and I. When we met again. I was sure we’d meet again, but I didn’t imagine... this.”

“Oh?” She didn’t particularly want to encourage this topic of conversation, especially not now that he was drunk, but she couldn’t help being curious. “What did you imagine?”

“I don’t know. Sex probably.”

“David!”

“Or blatant disdain. I thought you might hate me. As I imagined it, we would either fall into each other’s arms at sight or the exact opposite; you wouldn’t want to see me ever again. The second one being much more likely, of course. I never imagined this... easy-ness.”

“Easy-ness?”

“It’s a word.”

“Sure it is.”

“I just mean: you happily married, me... with a family. And you and I as friends, getting along, peacefully.”

She wouldn’t have described their current situation as ‘easy’, she felt anything but at ease around him, but she understood what he meant. They were going to try. They were going to be friends, no complications.

“It’s nice.” Or it would be, when the butterflies stopped fluttering at the sight of him.

“I suppose so...” He got quiet for a moment after that.

Eventually it was her who broke the silence, as she bravely rested her head on his shoulder. They could do this. Be comfortable together without turning it into anything sexual. “You smell nice,” she mumbled. It was out before she realised what she had said. She sat up again, regaining her distance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” So much for trying.

He shushed her, placing a finger on her lips and encouraged her to lie back again. “It’s ok. I know what you meant. And you know, you smell very nice, too.”

She smiled against his shoulder and they stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. And yet when it was over, it was all too soon.

“Are you cold?” he asked, when he felt her shivering against him.

“A little, yeah. Maybe we should go inside...”

“Maybe we should.”

“Catherine?”

She turned around to face him, his wide eyes staring right into her.

“What?”

“I like it. This is easy-ness. It is nice.”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

*

Weeks went by quicker than she’d thought possible. She enjoyed the work, and she enjoyed the company.

Things with David had really started easing up. That first week hadn’t been a mirage. She didn’t jump now every time he accidentally brushed her arm (she only jumped one out of three times; that was clear progress). Being close to him still made the butterflies in her stomach fly about, but not that she couldn’t breathe anymore. Every day it felt, more and more, like they could actually make this work. Be friends. And she found that she really liked that.

She was getting to know a David she had never seen before. He was funny and smart, and witty and they bounced off each other amazingly well.

That’s why she was dreading going back home, in a week’s time, and why she planned to make the most of her last week in Cardiff.

*

She knocked on the door twice and by the third knock, the door was already opening.

“Hello,” he greeted her with a broad smile. “Come on in.”

“I brought cranberry juice,” she said offering him the bottle.

He inspected it, “Oh, nice year! But I still have a cupboard full, you know?”

“Just in case. I also brought this,” she said pulling out a wine bottle from her purse.

He frowned. She’d never done this before, he’d always been happy to drink juice with her. “Why?” he asked.

“No reason. I suppose I felt a bit guilty making you drink juice all the time. The boy at the shop said this was a very good wine. It’s sort of a thank you, really. For these past couple of months.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s a bottle of wine; I didn’t get you a new car or tickets to Hawaii.”

“Pity, I would have quite liked to visit Hawaii.”

“Tough.”

*

“Wanna try?” he said, offering her the wine bottle.

“Not really, no.”

“It really is excellent.”

“I’m glad.”

“Why?”

“Why am I glad?”

“No. Why don’t you drink?”

 She smiled at him and focused on her plate again, taking a spoonful of rice. “Fear to lose control?”

“Is that a question?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted to hear? A deep and meaningful reason.”

“You won’t tell me.” He smiled.

“There’s nothing to tell. I just don’t drink alcohol.”

“So you’re _not_ afraid to lose control,” he said, his eyes dipping to her lips. “You can let go if you want to?”

She nodded, unsure where this was going.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he continued.

“Wouldn’t be here otherwise,” she countered.

“You feel you’re not in control?” he asked surprised.

“When I’m with you? Yes,” she admitted, her volume dropping.

“And how does that feel?”

It wasn’t like they were close enough for this to be anything but an innocent conversation, they were both seated at each end of the table, but for some reason, Catherine was getting increasingly hot. She decided not to answer and focused back on her suddenly extremely interesting plate.

“How does it feel?” he asked again.

When she looked up, he was watching her intently, his eyes locked with hers and threatening to never let go.

She cleared her throat. “It’s unsettling, sometimes,” she confessed. Why was she answering truthfully? “But it feels good.”

“Yes it does,” he said, still looking at her. “I’ll miss you when you leave, you know.”

She relaxed, this was slightly safer territory. “Oh shut up, you’ll have forgotten me in a week.”

“I can’t. I have a cupboard full of juice boxes and it’s all your fault. Every time I get a sugar high I’ll think of you.”

“Lovely.”

“What about me? Will you remember me at all?”

“Meh, perhaps when you appear in some magazine cover on the newsstand I’ll vaguely recall you...”

“That’s something I suppose. Fish?” he asked, standing up and retrieving the empty plates.

“I’ll get it,” she offered.

“No let me, I’ve got it.”

*

“I told you to leave the dishes, I’ll do them tomorrow.”

“I won’t be a minute.”

He appeared from behind her. “Let me help at least, I’ll rinse.”

“Alright, here,” she said, giving him a soapy plate.

The dishes really were done in no time. As David passed her the towel to dry herself, their hands met, and she felt his thumb run over her skin. Definitely not on accident. What has he doing?

They moved to the living room, a glass of cranberry juice in hand in her case, one of wine in his.

“I still think we should have done a farewell party,” he said letting himself fall unto the sofa. “I can’t believe you’re leaving in two days.”

“No parties. I much prefer this.” She sat next to him, at a prudent distance.

“It’s gone well, hasn’t it? You coming to work here. We’ve managed to be reasonably civil to each other.”

“Reasonably.”

“Oh, Sophia gave me this for you,” he said, getting up. He came back with a little envelope and gave it to her. “Didn’t tell me what it was.”

She took the envelope from him. “Girl things,” she said, by way of explanation. He sat down again next to her, a little closer than before, his hand coming to rest on her thigh. She didn’t dare to pull away and draw more attention to it. “Thanks,” she said instead.

He squeezed her thigh and smiled.

She swallowed.

What if?

What if just this once. Before she left. Just once. There was hardly any danger, she wouldn’t see him again. Probably ever again. Just one night. What if.

She looked up at him and returned the smile.

His own smile faded, his eyebrows coming slightly together, as if asking ‘are we doing this?’

Her smile also faded, ‘I don’t know,’ she was trying to say. 'I don’t know what we’re doing.'

He took a deep breath and moved a fraction closer to her. It was her turn.

She licked her lips unconsciously and only realised she was doing so when his eyes dipped to her mouth. Her eyes dipped to his own mouth in answer. Pink, slightly swollen. Why did his lips always look as if he’d just been thoroughly kissed?

She looked back up again, as if asking for permission and she really wouldn’t know who moved first, but soon it was all tongues and lips. It was his arms around her back, finding their way inside her shirt. It was her arms tightly wrapped around him, pressing him closer, as if this would make it last forever.

She couldn’t suppress a moan when his searching hands found her breasts, her bra already discarded under the shirt. He groaned in return, pressing his hips against her, making her buckle against him to increase the friction.

“Fuck Catherine, what you do to me.”

She moaned again as his mouth reached her neck and bit there.

She unbuttoned his trousers and let a hand slip inside, grabbing him whole.

“Umgh,” he said, making her smile. Only he didn’t let her continue, and suddenly a hand was stopping her. “Wait,” he said. “Wait, we can’t do this.”

“What?” She froze. What the fuck? She had her hand down his pants and was panting like an idiot and he wanted to stop this. “I thought you wanted this,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said, re-buttoning his pants and sitting up. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve been looking at me all night. And touching me when you could and...”

“I know.”

“...and I know this is a fucking shit idea, I know we shouldn’t be doing this. You’re not the only married one, you know?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t want this to happen. I mean I did but... Fuck. I’m just.” She was getting increasingly angry. “I know we can’t do this. But you can’t stop now. Fuck David.” She wanted to cry. She wanted to run.

Yes, run.

This is what she was going to do.

She grabbed her bra, still laying on the sofa and her shoes, discarded on the floor, and made for the door.

She was nearly at the door when David reacted, running towards her and grabbing her by the arm.

She shook him off.

“Wait,” he said. “This isn’t why I stopped. There is something I need to tell you before... _if_ ,” he amended, “If we do this.”

“What?” she asked, defiantly, not budging.

“Can you come back to the sofa? It’s not... it’s not that easy for me to say.”

She resisted only a little and then followed him over to the couch, sitting down on the edge, her legs crossed, hers arms folded.

“Go on,” she said.

“Ok.” He nodded and took a deep breath. “Ok. I... I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

She didn’t say anything so he continued.

“I’m... things are not so well at home. I wanted to tell you. I just... I never found the moment to... explain. I've... I’ve been sleeping on a couch for months. That is, when I'm not here.”

“What? Why? What happened?” And why hadn’t he told her?

“I cheated on her,” he said plainly.

“Oh my God,” she felt herself go pale. “Jenny found out about us?”

“No.”

“Then how?” It took a moment for her to understand. “Oh.”

He looked at her, his eyes wide, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. And it was all so ridiculous. So fucking bloody ridiculous. She started laughing.

“So you haven’t changed,” she said, still laughing. She really couldn’t stop, this was all too much.

“It’s not like that,” he said, obviously confused by her reaction.

“Not like what, do explain.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?”

“She didn’t...” he begun.

“Please don’t say she didn’t mean anything to you, you’re just making it worse. You’re unbelievable. Look, thank you. Thank you for stopping me from doing something I would have regretted for the rest of my life. Goodbye David.”

And with that, she left.

But not without banging the door loudly on her way out.


	3. 3

“Let me talk first,” she said bursting through the door the second he opened. She waved her hands in the air, her fingers clipped, as if they were the ones about to do the talking while she stared at the floor, trying to find the right words.

She needed to get this out.

“I hate this. I hate what you do to me. I hate how you make me feel. I hate that I have no control over any of this.”

He knew better than to interrupt so he just nodded.

“I hate that I haven’t slept tonight because of... this,” she said gesturing in disgust to the space between them. “Whatever the hell this messed up arrangement of ours is. Because you know what?” she added in a humourless smile, “Do you know what I felt like last night after you told me you had cheated on your wife with someone else? I felt betrayed. I felt like you had cheated on _me_. Me. It’s pretty funny right?”

He still didn’t say anything.

“When all we had was one bloody night stand the night before your fucking wedding. How is it possible that I feel so betrayed when we knew each other a whole of a few weeks and all of that over three years ago. But I do, I feel betrayed, and angry. At you. At me. At this whole fucking thing because I do not understand it.” She was shouting, she realised that, but she couldn’t stop. “Because I am not like that.” She looked at him then, he hadn’t moved an inch. “I love my husband,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he whispered in return.

“And I don’t love you.”

He nodded.

“That would be absurd. For one, because I don’t know you. Because I thought these past two months that I was getting to know you, the real you, you know? Leaving behind the you that I had conjured up in my head for the past three years to get to know the actual you. But the real you keeps changing at the drop of a hat. It’s not you I’m in love with; it’s the idea of you. It’s the other you, the one I had conjured up.”

“You’re... in love with me?” he asked confused.

“No!” she shouted. “Do keep up.”

He didn’t say anything and for a long time neither did she.

“I am leaving tomorrow and it is unlikely that I will ever see you again,” she said calmly after a while. “But I need to hear the whole story. I couldn’t, last night, but tonight I need to, before I go.”

*

“What do you want to know?” he asked, after a long silence.

“You seemed eager to explain yourself last night, I’m giving you the chance now.”

He swallowed and nodded, and still he said nothing.

They had moved on to living room, he was sitting on the edge of the sofa and she had pulled up a chair in front of him, at a fair distance.

“You can start by telling me when. And who.” She didn’t add ‘and why’.

“When Mickey was born. Not straight away, he was about two months. He cried all the time and didn’t sleep, ever, and neither did we. And Jenny was so unhappy. So unhappy,” his voice broke and she noticed his eyes well up. He pressed his lips together furiously for a brief moment and continued, “I knew it was my fault. I knew I had fucked up. In so many ways. I thought I loved her, I really did,” he said, looking at the floor, somehow almost oblivious to Catherine’s presence for a moment. “Until you,” he whispered. Her breath hitched. “You made me realise I was getting married for the wrong reasons.” She breathed again.

Oh.

Yes, she remembered calling him out on his obvious reticence. “Anyway, that’s all beside the point,” he said, as if shaking himself off the reverie. “I felt so guilty. How could I have such a beautiful family and not want to be there? Because I didn’t, you know. Or rather, there was somewhere else I wanted to be,” he looked up at her fleetingly then and continued. “Only I couldn’t leave them. I couldn’t. And I think I subconsciously resented them for it.

“So one night I got royally pissed and slept with some girl. Told Jenny the morning after expecting her to kick me out. I think I wanted her to kick me out. Make the choice for me.

“She didn’t.  She called me out on my shit, told me it was too late to back out now from being a father, said that I could sleep on the couch if I didn’t love her, but that Michael deserved better.”

“And then?” she asked, surprised to hear her own voice and realise she had gotten caught up in the story.

“Well, for a while, things went surprisingly much better. I didn’t move out to the couch just yet. I realised she was right and Michael deserved everything I had to give. So did she.” Catherine nodded, because despite the pang of jealousy, she couldn’t help but agree. That didn’t make things easier. “So I did my best, I really did. And for a while, Jenny seemed happy again. Michael was sleeping better. Things were falling back into place.

“Until a few months ago Jenny asked me to sleep on the couch. I didn’t need to ask why. I don’t love her, not the way she loved me.” He looked up at Catherine again. “I’m not trying to justify what I did. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel guilty. But the cheating bit, that’s the least of it.”

“What will you do?” she heard herself ask in a whisper.

“I honestly don’t know... I... If you...” he began, then shook his head disregarding the idea. “I think a talk with her is long overdue. I think that’s the place to start. And then see where things go.”

She nodded. He looked up then and suddenly seemed to realise who he had been speaking to. “I’m sorry. You got more than you bargained for. This is me, with all my fuck ups. I really am sorry that you got caught in the middle of it all. You were right, you’re better off as far away from me as possible. For what it’s worth, I really enjoyed these past two months together. I’m glad I managed not to bollocks it up at least until the very end.”

“Ever the optimist,” she snorted.

“Self preservation I suppose,” he shrugged.

“I should go now,” she said finally, standing up

“Right, of course.”

He stood up slowly and followed her to the door. He caught her hand softly, barely brushing her with the tip of his fingers. She turned around to look at him. He looked so miserable. She didn’t begrudge him, she realised. Not anymore. She wondered if she ever really had.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, which felt lame even to her own ears but she hoped he understood what she meant.

“Goodbye, Catherine,” he said with a sad smile.

And then, because this was goodbye, because it felt final, she stood up on her toes and brought him to her for a brief moment; their lips meeting softly at first and then more urgently as David opened his mouth to her. It turned into a hungry kiss, it tasted like goodbye.

Reluctantly, cheeks flushed, Catherine stepped back, putting her hand on his chest for distance, stopping only briefly to regain her breath.

She didn’t look up; she didn’t think she could leave if she saw his imploring eyes.

“Goodbye,” she said, eyes still on his chest.

And as soon as she’d gathered the strength to, she turned around and left.

*

“Oh, hello! And what are _you_ doing here?”

The little boy looked at her wide-eyed, as if he was about to start crying any second now. He couldn’t have been more than three.

“Are you lost?” Catherine tried again. The boy kept looking up at her from behind the counter. “Where’s your mum?” she tried. The boy didn’t move.  “Your dad?”

Catherine walked over to the little boy, who took a tentative step back. “What’s your name?”

No answer.

“Here,” she said, offering him her hand, “Do you want to go find your mummy?” The boy nodded and when Catherine touched his hand, his little fingers wrapped themselves tightly around hers. “Ok, good! Let’s go find your mummy.”

She put up the ‘BE BACK IN FIVE MINUTES’ sign and walked out of the shop, little boy in hand. “Now, which way did you come, do you know?”

The boy shook his head and his lip quivered slightly.

“That’s ok, I’m sure she can’t be far. Will you tell me your name?” she tried again, “My name is Catherine.”

“Mickey,” the boy said, speaking for the first time.

“Nice to meet you Mickey.” She smiled at the boy who looked only slightly reassured. “How about your last  name? Do you know your last name?”

The boy nodded. “Michael Alexander McD- Mum!” the kid shouted, suddenly letting loose of Catherine’s hand and running away. His mum was already waiting for him, arms open, as he leaped into her arms.

“Oh baby! You gave me such a scare! Never ever ever ever do that again, do you hear?”

The boy was nodding against her mother’s shoulder. It took Catherine a moment to realise who the woman was, and a little bit longer for her to recognise Catherine in turn.

“Catherine?”

“Jenny.”

“Oh, of course, the shop,” Jenny said, gesturing towards Catherine’s flower shop. “How nice to see you.”

“Likewise. Is this your little one, then?” she said, politely. “He’s adorable.”

“Yes, he is. Adorable when he stays put, yeah?” she said, giving the little boy a scolding look. The boy looked only slightly ashamed. “How are you, Catherine?”

“Good, yes.”

“David tells me you got married?”

“So I did.” Should she tell her? There was no point in lying about it. “I’m afraid it wasn’t very long lived. We’ve separated.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to hear that. I didn’t mean to...”

“No, please! Of course. It’s fine, really. It was amicably. I suppose it wasn’t meant to be. He’s gone back to the States.”

“Well, that makes two of us with ex-husbands in the States.”

And *that* she was not expecting. “Oh, wow. You... He... David’s in the States?”

Jenny smiled, knowing exactly what Catherine hadn’t asked. “It wasn’t meant to be, either,” she shrugged. “He’s got a pretty big Hollywood gig, actually. Scorsese. He is not saying anything not to jinx it, but I don’t think he’ll mind my telling you.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m glad for him.” So David was in the States. It didn’t make any difference, of course, she hadn’t seen him in almost a year, but it still felt strange. “How about you? How are you...”

“I’m fine.” Catherine might have looked at her suspiciously because she insisted, “I really am. Mickey and I will miss him when he’s away, though he has promised he’ll come as often as possible, but I know we did the right thing.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“So am I. But I don’t think I’d change a day...” she added, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“He’s wonderful,” Catherine said, gesturing towards the boy. Whatever Jenny might have been through with her marriage, she’d always have Michael. What did she have to show for her failed marriage? An American green card. “Anyway, I should probably get back to...”

“Of course. It was very nice to see you Catherine.”

“Likewise. And very nice to meet you Mickey.”

The boy smiled shyly.

“Catherine,” Jenny said, suddenly. “I... I hope things work out for you. I really do.”

Catherine frowned. “Thank you. The feeling’s mutual.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

David was separated.

David was in the States.

*

Maybe it was due to her chance encounter with Jenny not two days ago, but when her doorbell rang at 10pm, she immediately thought of David.

Ridiculous, her mind chastised, for one, he was in America. And two, she hadn’t seen him in almost a year.

The doorbell rang again making her heart jump.

When did she become such an idiot?

She hurried downstairs and turned the shop’s light on to see who it was.

Oh.

Suddenly she wished she’d been an idiot instead of...

Right.

But how?

What the hell was David doing in her front door?

Wasn’t he in L.A.?

They hadn’t seen each other in ages and now...

But how?

It wasn’t until David, looking at her through the door’s glass, knocked again softly, that she realised she had frozen in the middle of the room.

She moved then, or dragged herself to the door, to open it.

“You got divorced,” he said, by way of greeting.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you got divorced?”

“Tell you?”

“Jenny told me you got divorced,” he insisted.

“She told _me_ you were in the States,” she countered.

“I’m not,” he provided helpfully.

“I can see that.”

“Are you?”

“Am I?”

“Divorced?”

“No,” she replied.

“Oh,” his face fell, then. As if Catherine’s marital status mattered to him one bit, after not seeing each other for a year. “I thought...” he continued, “Well, Jenny said...”

“We’re separated, if that’s what you mean. That’s what I told Jenny.”

“Oh,” he said again, his tone slightly more hopeful. “May I?” he said gesturing the inside of the shop. Catherine stepped aside to let him in.

“So... to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, pulling out a chair for him and another for herself. “Tea?” she added. He waved him off, so she sat down.

“Jenny told me you were divorced,” he said finally.

She opened her mouth to inquire about his eating habits and whether they included some sort of broken records, but he cut her off.

“No, I know. Not divorced. Separated.”

She nodded.

“And for the record, I _am_ in the States.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Well, not right now, obviously, but I’m leaving tomorrow.” He sounded nervous. She’d never seen him so fidgety and this, for some strange reason, gave her some serenity.

“I see,” she said simply.

“But before I left, I had to know...” he shook his head, “I wanted to ask...”

“Yes?”

“Do you wanna get something to eat?”

“What?”

“I know it’s quite late and you’ve probably already eaten, maybe we could go out for some orange juice.”

“ _That’s_ what you came here to ask?”

“No! I... It’s just, we haven’t seen each other in so long. God, I feel so stupid for having come here tonight. Fuck.”

“David.”

“I thought it’d be easier,” he said, looking at her, his lips thinned.

“What would? Darling, you’re not making much sense.”

“I think I’ll have some tea, after all.”

“Ok,” she nodded, going to the kettle behind the counter. “So... big Hollywood gig?” she added, to change the subject.

“Oh that,” he said, blushing slightly. “Well yeah... still don’t believe it myself. It’s huge. I mean it’s Scorsese, you know. I sort of expect they’ll send me back once I’m there, telling me there’s been some sort of mistake. Got the wrong Scottish bloke.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks. The thing is... I was hoping...” She brought the mugs over and gave one to him which he gladly took. “Ta. I was hoping... I know we didn’t leave things at a very good place, and now I’m leaving and... I guess I sort of needed to know if what happened last year had any impact on your decision to... I’m not phrasing this right. I mean...”

“Yes.”

“I know, I’m a tool for words, I just mean...”

“Yes, it had an impact. Of course it had an impact. It didn’t feel right staying married to Sean if my heart wasn’t in it. And it wasn’t. And I didn’t want my marriage to become like...” she stopped herself in time, but he understood regardless.

“Like mine.”

“Yeah.”

“Where is your heart these days?” he asked, nearly in a whisper.

“In my chest, and staying put,” she answered in an equally soft voice.

“Catherine...”

“No, don’t, David.”

“I know this comes at a bad time. There has been no right time for us it seems, but for once we’re both... free and...”

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Would you come with me?”

“What? Are you nuts?”

“I don’t mean immediately, we could do this slowly. I’d come visit next week, then maybe you could come over. I don’t want you to leave the shop, but maybe we could consider opening one in L.A. I could help, economically, to start up a new business and...”

“WOAH. Woah. Hold your horses. Have you lost your mind? Do you hear what you’re saying? Aside from still being the patronising git you’ve always been, you’re asking me to throw my life away for you, when we haven’t seen each other for almost a year and didn’t part precisely on good terms.”

“Oh God, I didn’t mean it that way... I got carried away. This is just mindless planning. Daydreaming, really. I’ve been going through so many scenarios in my head. Ever since Jenny told me about the divorce. The separation,” he amended quickly. “But I didn’t mean this all needs to happen now. We could take it one step at a time. I’m not that presumptuous as to think that you’d want anything to do with me after everything that happened... But will you give me a second chance? Start with a drink, tonight.”

“Why did Jenny tell you?”

“What?”

“That I was separated.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, why did she bring it up?”

“Oh... as much as I don’t deserve it, I think she wants me to be happy.”

“She thinks my divorce would make you happy?”

“She knows that you and I...”

“She what!?”

“She knows you’re the woman I love, yes.”

She felt herself go pale. Both from the implied declaration and the revelation that Jenny knew.

“How long has she known?” She decided to ignore the declaration.

“I think since before the wedding.”

“What?”

“She never mentioned it, but I think she knew it was you all along.”

“Oh my God.” She was shaking. “She must hate me...”

“She doesn’t.”

“The other day when we met, she was so cordial...”

“She doesn’t blame you.”

“How could she not!?” she nearly shouted. “And then she said she hoped things worked out for me. She meant you?”

“She said that?”

 “Yes, I thought she meant with Sean, but now I don’t think she did.”

“Jenny and I, it’s been a very difficult journey, for both of us, but I think we’re at a good place. I really don’t deserve her.”

“You really don’t,” she agreed.

“Or you.”

She shook her head but couldn’t say the words.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Even so, if you ever change your mind...,” he said, defeated, standing up from the chair. She stood up as well, but didn’t move as he went for the door.

“David,” she finally said before he could leave. “The thing about me, is that I always expect the worse. And in your case, honestly, it’s not very difficult.” He nodded, she continued, “I still have trouble comprehending what the hell drew you to me in the first place and what it is that makes you think you want me. Me. When you could have any beautiful actress you wanted. Well you’ve HAD all the beautiful actresses, so maybe that’s it. That’s why you fancy a change. But it won’t last and I’ll be the one getting hurt. So the answer is no. I’m not going to throw my life away for you.” He opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him. “No, please. Don’t. You’re leaving tomorrow. Starting a new life. Forget me and let me forget you.”

“I can’t,” he whispered as he turned around and she closed the door behind him.

She went back upstairs and proceeded to cry herself to sleep.

*

“What the...”

She’d closed the shop early today, she wasn’t feeling herself, she hadn’t had any sleep last night and she didn’t feel like dealing with any more clients for the day. But in spite of the very obvious CLOSED sign at the door, there was someone who had very insistently been ringing for a good 30 minutes now.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she said, opening the door to let David in. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane? Didn’t I make myself clear yesterday?”

“Perfectly.”

She waited, he smiled shyly.

“I came to invite you to the theatre tonight,” he said finally, producing two theatre tickets. “Much Ado About Nothing at the Donmar.”

“What?”

“That’s all I ask for. One night of theatre with you.”

“But you’re supposed to...”

“I said no.”

“To what?”

“Scorsese.”

“You did WHAT?”

“I said no. You were right. I can’t expect you to give up your life. I don’t. We’ll take this as slowly as it takes. I’m here to stay Catherine, and I want to prove that to you. There’ll be other movies, or maybe there won’t be. It doesn’t really matter. _You_ matter. I can’t make up for all the fuck ups in my life, but I can try to fix my biggest one and that was letting you go.”

“You’re an idiot! What the hell did you do?” She was furious. “Call them again! Say it was a mistake. Say you’ll get on the next plane!!!” She rushed over to David and pulled her mobile out. “Call NOW.”

He pushed the phone away softly. “No, the decision’s been made.”

“David, you can’t do this.”

“I want a chance to do things right. I want a chance to do things slowly. I want the chance to seduce you. I want to win your heart or know that I did my best trying. And the only way I can do so is if I’m here.”

“David...”

“Catherine, this isn’t meant to pressure you into anything. I don’t want to corner you. Big gestures sometimes have that effect, but this isn’t it. It’s not a big gesture. This is something I needed. Because I want to do things right. Running away, that didn't feel right.”

“You can’t win my heart...”

“Even if you say no tonight, I’m still not going to the States. I’ll keep trying, because you’re worth it. And because I want to prove to you that this isn’t a passing fancy. The way I feel about you won’t go away, you’ve been lodged in there for too long. And I’ll try my hardest to prove to you that, unworthy of it as I am, if you were ever to give me a bit of your heart, I would take care of it forever. I promise.”

“You can’t win my heart.”

“Let me try.”

“You can’t win my heart because you already have it, you idiot.”

“I... What?”

“That’s what scares me.”

“I what?”

“You’ve always been there,” she said gesturing towards her chest. “Even when I tried my damned hardest to forget you. _Particularly_ when I tried my hardest to forget you. But what you offer is so dangerous. Because I don’t think I could bare it if you...”

“It’s not going to happen. You may tire of me, but I will never...”

“Shh,” she said, bringing a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. Please don’t make promises you can’t keep. Please, at least that.”

“Ok,” he said nodding. “One step at a time then, yeah? What do you say to Shakespeare, tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” He beamed at her.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Catherine!” He looked at her, his eyes shining, his smile so broad it very nearly reached his ears. She thought maybe he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he put the two tickets in her hand and said, “6pm.”

Before she’d had a chance to reply, he was already out the door, practically skipping down the street.

*


	4. EPILOGUE

 

“I said no such thing!”

Catherine looked up from the script she was trying to memorise. Why she had decided to study drama at this point in her life was absolutely beyond her, she was never going to memorise all those lines.

“The way I feel about you won’t go away, you’ve been lodged in there for too long,” he continued, monotone.

“What?”

“And I’ll try my hardest to prove to you that, unworthy of it as I am, if you were ever to give me a bit of your heart…”

It finally clicked. “Oh my God, David, what the hell!” She jumped on him and pulled the hand-written pages from his hands. “I can’t believe…”

“You thought I was stuck up?” he asked, half amused.

“That was NOT for you to read, David.” She was furious, “how could you invade my privacy like that?”

“I was looking for the prescription in your desk drawer and I saw my name...” his features had changed from amused to worried; justifiably worried.

“You saw your name so that gave you the right to read through my personal stuff.”

“God, no, I’m sorry, it’s just… You wrote a story about us?”

“It was a fucking exercise, alright? We were meant to write an episode of our lives in the third person.” Which is mostly what she’d done… more or less… more more than less… “I kind of got carried away.”

“You were going to share that with your drama buddies and I am not allowed to read it?” he asked incredulous.

“No! No one was meant to read it, it was a personal exercise, fuck David. Ugh,” she could feel her cheeks getting hotter, both from embarrassment and anger.

“Well, half of it isn’t true,” he said, ever so helpful.

“What?” she snorted. 

“You’ve been lodged in there for too long? I’d never say that.”

“It’s not meant to be literal, David. It’s artistic license. That’s how I experienced it, that’s what the exercise was about.”

“So in your eyes I went from being a stuck up bastard, to… very corny?”

“That pretty much sums it up, yes,” she said, now more on the pissed side than embarrassed.

“I like it.” He smiled; a stupid genuine smile. Bastard. His smiles could always disarm her. “So,” he said, dragging out the word, “why didn’t you finish it?”

“I didn’t?”

“It’s not finished.”

“Yes, it is. That’s how it went.”

“Why did you stop there? Why not the day of the planetarium, or the engagement? Hey, I went through a lot of trouble hiring that helicopter.”

“You never hired a helicopter!” She had to laugh, much against her will.

He got closer to her and took the papers still in her hand. She resisted a little, but finally relinquished them. He left the papers on the table next to her and kneeled between her knees. She sat still. “Would you have liked me, to?” He asked, quietly, looking up into her eyes. “When we moved here, I could have…”

“You could have what?”

“For once in his life, things were going right in the life of David Tennant,” he said. “He was happy. Happy like he’d never been before. The kind of happy that runs through your veins and makes your toes curl. That makes your cheeks sore and your heart beat faster. The kind of happy that lodges into your heart and sets camp there, permanently.” She hit his arm, but he continued. “He was happy because there was a woman in his life that made everything else irrelevant.”

“And you thought I wrote you corny?” she said, conceding him a hint of a smile.

“So he did what any other man in this state of profound bliss would do, he rented a helicopter.”

“Makes sense,” she said, trying hard to keep a stern face.

“He took that very special woman to see the city where they were going to spend the next few years of bliss. And it was flying over the beaches of Santa Monica, that he finally popped the question.”

“And what question was that?” she asked.

“What do you mean what question?” He re-arranged himself, as if proposing right there. “Catherine Tate, will you be my wife?”

“She gasped.”

“She gasped?”

“Yes, she gasped in surprise.”

“Was she not expecting it?”

“Oh, she was expecting, hoping even, ever since they had moved to L.A. She just didn’t expect the helicopter.”

“Well, he was a very creative man.” Emphasis on the ‘very’.

“That, he was,” she conceded. “But he was not the helicopter kind of man.”

“No?”

“No,” she said, pulling him up into her lap.

“I’m not sitting on your lap,” he mumbled, making her shift to switch positions with her.

“He was not the helicopter kind of man,” she continued, now on his lap. “He was more the, drop the ring on the floor at a fancy restaurant, stutter his way through it incoherently, type of man.”

“I did not!” he exclaimed in mock offense. “And anyway, it couldn’t have been so incoherent if it made you cry.”

“The soup was spicy.”

“So you weren’t crying.”

“No.”

“And I wasn’t stuttering.”

“Fine.”

“She said yes.”

“Of course she said yes. Catherine Tennant-to-be was the kind of happy that lodges into your heart and sets it on fire.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“She was really, really happy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his nose grazing against her cheek. She nodded, smiling broadly by now. “Is Catherine Tennant happy, too?”

“Catherine Tennant is even happier.”

He kissed her, and then pulled apart just enough to speak.

“So you won’t write the helicopter scene, in?”

“No.”

“How about the time where you almost blew the whole thing off?”

“I? I blew the whole thing off? I wasn’t the one being all prudish.”

“Prudish! I was being respectful. I wanted to give you space. I wanted to show you that I meant it, and that it wasn’t about the sex.”

“It took you TWO full months to even kiss me.”

“It was a good kiss though,” he said, trying to reach her lips. She pulled back just enough.

“I thought you had changed your mind, that you didn’t find me attractive and didn’t know how to tell me. That’s why I left that message.”

“Nearly blew my planetarium date to hell, too. No explanations given, just that you wouldn’t be coming. Please, not to call back.”

“I always had a flair for the dramatics.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Good thing I was out of battery and that you showed up regardless. Why did you, anyway? You never said…”

“Well, we had gotten that far... Just wanted to make sure you knew exactly what you would be missing.”

“Honestly, I don’t think anyone in their right mind could have left you after that night. Or any night.”

“That was the idea.” She smiled, and then frowned. “That still doesn’t make it ok.” He raised an eyebrow. “All this remember-when does not make your reading my private things ok.”

He shifted in his chair. “I know. I’m sorry… It was very hard to resist.”

“Did you even try?”

He shook his head, “Not very hard, no.”

“Look, I don’t mind that you read this, because it’s our story.”

“It’s a very good one.”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“Sorry.”

“But I need to know that you won’t go around snooping around my things, even if it seems to you that they’re not personal.”

“I promise.”

“At least ask me, ok?”

“Yes, a thousand times yes. I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have read it, or at least I should have asked. I won’t do it again, I promise. Can I make it up to you?”

“Well,” she bit her bottom lip, “I do have a couple of ideas…”

“Do tell.” His eyes dipped immediately to her mouth.

“All in good time.” She brought his chin up with her finger, making him snap back into focus.

“I love it, you know? That you chose to write our story,” he said.

“I thought you said half of it wasn’t true.”

“Those were my favourite bits, truth be told,” he grinned. “Knowing what it was like for you, how you experienced it… Bloody hot, actually.”

“Well…”

“I had an award show, by the way.”

“When?”

“When you thought I was going to the Opera. It was an award show.”

“Oh my God, and you missed it?”

“I didn’t win.”

“But what if you had? Who would have picked up the award? Ladies and gentlemen, David Tennant couldn’t be here to tonight because he’s foaming baskets for his wedding…”

“…but he’s very, very grateful for the award and very happy foaming baskets.”

“Is that so? Because I have a few baskets that need foaming for Marianne’s wedding next week.”

“Ah, I think I’m very, very busy for the next 8 days…”

“I thought you didn’t know how to make it up to me?”

“Oh, you weren’t talking about…” he smirked.

“That too.”

“But you also want me to foam baskets?”

She considered him for a while. “No, you’re off the foaming hook, but I do know what you can do.”

“What’s that?”

“You can help me write the end.”

“Ok.”

“Oh, and David…”

“No helicopters?”

“No helicopters.”

“Deal.”


End file.
